


i'll be here come hell or high water

by bowlingfornerds



Series: tumblr prompts [22]
Category: The 100
Genre: Alternative Universe - Modern Setting, Baking, Cookies, F/M, Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-06
Updated: 2015-11-06
Packaged: 2018-04-30 08:48:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,622
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5157563
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bowlingfornerds/pseuds/bowlingfornerds
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>From muchtoocrazy's prompt on tumblr: "...based on that prompt post 386 #4 about 3am cookies. Bellarke with Bellamy making Octavia cookies at 3am and then they don't have enough eggs or whatever. . ...."</p><p>4:  "I wake you up in the middle of the night because, yeah, I know it’s 3 am but I need cookies that I don’t have and I’m trying to bake but I’m out of eggs. Can I borrow some please? "</p><p>Octavia has nightmares, Bellamy bakes cookies and Clarke has the night shift at the hospital.</p>
            </blockquote>





	i'll be here come hell or high water

**Author's Note:**

> Aye, so I guess I don't have the right inspiration today because I know in my heart that this could have been better. But I still like it, anyway.
> 
> Please enjoy.

Bellamy, for the record, was two things.

One: He was the tri-county bake sale _champion_. He won the last four years of cookie, cake, and bread county fair competitions, and he did it without even breaking a sweat.

Two: He was exceptionally organised. So much so that his sock drawer was coded by season, thickness of the material, _and_ colour.

So, knocking on his next door neighbour’s door at three AM on a school night was so far unlike him that it knocked his pride a little. But, there he was anyway.

In retrospect, he blamed it on Octavia.

It was two thirty in the morning when his little sister woke up with nightmares. Bellamy was twenty, and his sister – well, she was eight. Their mother had given birth to them very far apart before passing on only a few years later. He had custody of her, and his go-to-solve-all method for when she woke up crying was, well, baking.

Octavia probably loved baking just as much as him; but she was more drawn to the cooking side of things; actually making meals and main courses, instead of the deserts. His friends joked, whenever they ate a Blake-special meal; first course by Octavia, second by Bellamy; that they were going to open up a restaurant together some day. (Honestly, he could see it happening, but he wasn’t going to pressure his sister into that.)

So, because she’d woken him up, crawling into his bed and snivelling; tucking herself under his arm because it was the safest place for her at the time, his heart had shattered. And when she explained her dream to him (like normal, it involved their mother coming back from the dead), he’d asked how tired she was. Evidently, she was wide awake.

Which, was how he found himself in the kitchen; lights and kettle on, as his sister started flicking through his recipes. It was too late in the night for a meal, so they’d decided to go along the desert route – only, Bellamy had told her they were not making massive cakes at two thirty in the morning, and she had shrugged; because it didn’t matter what they made, as long as they were making it together.

Octavia chose to make cookies just as the kettle boiled, and Bellamy gulped back a mug of coffee before pouring himself another and instructing her to get out the ingredients. One thing about Octavia still being so small was that he got to enjoy the moments in which she needed to climb onto a chair to reach the cupboards, and sometimes, the counter; it was that look she got on her face like he was the greatest brother in the world, or that he was really doing a good job at looking after her, even if he was juggling three jobs to do it.

As Bellamy was getting out the bowl and the hand-held-crank-whisk (he was not using the electronic one in the middle of the night), Octavia slumped in front of the fridge.

“What’s up, O?” He asked, laying the whisk on the counter.

“We’re out of eggs,” she replied. Bellamy glanced over to the recipe; his cookies had eggs in them and that was one of the reasons they were the best cookies in town. He swallowed before looking back to her.

“Are you sure?” She turned around, frowning, and Bellamy remembered when he came back from shopping, noticing half way home that he hadn’t bought eggs but couldn’t go back for them because he needed to pick Octavia up from school. That was the first knock to his ego, to be fair.

“Does this mean we can’t make cookies?” O asked sadly; her voice whining. He hated seeing her face all scrunched up like that, so he shook his head, kneeling down and giving her a smile.

“We’re going to make cookies,” he promised her. “I’ll be back in a minute – two tops.” Bellamy pressed a quick kiss to her forehead, before swiping the keys from the key bowl (an Octavia-original with crude flowers painted on the side). As he left, he told her to get the rest of the ingredients and equipment, before shutting the door quietly behind him. Bellamy didn’t know the rest of his neighbours very well; opposite him there were the two stoners, Jasper and Monty, who were nice enough to Octavia and made sure not to turn their music up too loud. The door at the end of the hall led to Miller and Murphy’s apartment; and while Miller was the closest thing he had to a best friend, he was also stoic and silent, and wouldn’t appreciate being woken up at three in the morning, and Murphy – well he was a criminal, so he wasn’t knocking there.

His neighbour, though; one door up from him, was new. Clarke had moved in a couple of weeks beforehand, and been mostly silent or out of the house. He had only seen her twice; the first time on the day she moved in when he helped her carry a particularly heavy box up the stairs, and the second when she was shoving the door open with her butt, while carrying four shopping bags.

He didn’t hope for her to be awake, but she seemed nice enough. So he knocked urgently on her door, surprised to find it open within thirty seconds.

“What?” She groaned, opening it. Clarke wasn’t in pyjamas, he noticed, but hospital scrubs, and Bellamy felt worse than if he’d woken her up from a sleep.

“Sorry,” he immediately apologised. “Did I wake you?” She sighed, shaking her head.

“I just got back from a shift a few minutes ago.” Clarke seemed to notice who it was for the first time, smiling slightly at the sight of him in rumpled plaid pyjama trousers and a ‘World’s Best Brother’ t-shirt that Octavia had gotten him for his birthday, a year or two before. Clarke, on the other hand, looked like death incarnate; her hair a wreck and make up smudged around her blue, blue eyes. She seemed to have blood (or some other fluid) on her scrubs t-shirt and she only wore a single shoe. It was then fairly odd to Bellamy that he found her particularly beautiful, that night; seeing another side to her than the put together, light-hearted woman he’d assumed her to be from their very brief conversation. “What did you need?”

Bellamy scrambled for words suddenly, realising he had been staring. “Eggs,” he blurted. Clarke raised her eyebrows and he sighed. “O and I are baking cookies,” he explained, jabbing a thumb in the direction of his apartment. “But we don’t have any eggs. Do you have any?” She eyed him for a moment longer before nodding, opening the door wider for him to come in.

“How many do you need?” She asked absently, wandering towards the kitchen. Bellamy followed her through, noticing how she stopped, half way to her destination, to toe off the other shoe.

“Two,” he replied. Clarke’s apartment was exactly the same as his, but flipped. While his kitchen was on the left of the door when you walked in, hers was on the right. Her walls were covered in artwork and clothes were strewn about all possible surfaces. It was obvious, if not only from the job he assumed her to have from her work clothes that she had very little time to clean (which hurt Bellamy, in a sense, because even with his three jobs, he made sure his sister’s home was _immaculate_ ).

From the kitchen, Clarke hummed, opening her fridge, and Bellamy looked to her, watching as she pulled out a carton and glanced inside. It was full from what he could see, but she shut it before turning to him.

“Here,” she smiled half-heartedly. Bellamy carefully took the carton, forcing himself not to feel the sparks in his fingertips when they grazed her skin. “Um, just bring the rest back during a daylight hour?” Bellamy grinned at her then, nodding.

“Yeah, yeah, of course.” Clarke nodded, following him back to the door.

“I’ve got the day off tomorrow – or, well, today, so I’ll be in.” He nodded, holding the carton up in thanks. He was almost at his door again when she kept talking. “Hey, Bellamy?” She called.

“Yeah, Clarke?” He glanced down at her, standing in her doorway, leaning tiredly against the wall.

“Did I flirt at all or was I too tired to remember to do it?” Bellamy laughed, more out of shock than anything else, and a rueful smile appeared on the blonde’s face.

“You didn’t flirt, sorry,” he replied, rolling his eyes. She shook her head.

“I knew something went wrong,” Clarke agreed. They stood there, in their respective doorways, for a moment before she nodded, pushing away from the way. “When you bring the eggs back, I’ll do it better,” she nodded. Bellamy smirked, rolling his eyes.

“Promise?” He asked. She eyed him for a second before nodding.

“Promise.”

When Clarke’s door had shut, Bellamy went back to his apartment, finding Octavia standing on a chair as she measured out the flour.

“Took you long enough,” she nodded, looking to him as he held up the egg carton.

“I got side-tracked,” he shrugged. Octavia nodded, looking back to their baking. She still got nightmares, after that night, and she still bundled up in Bellamy’s bed, looking for comfort, and Octavia was sometimes met with the blonde girl from down the hall as well as her brother – but she couldn’t bring herself to complain, because Clarke never minded when she arrived, sniffing and teary-eyed, only shifted in the bed so the younger girl could fit between them.

**Author's Note:**

> To be honest, I broke my own heart over baby Octavia tucking herself under Bellamy's arm for protection. I kind of want to write more of this universe.
> 
> Thanks for reading! Please tell me what you thought in the comments, and if you liked it, hit the kudos button! Thanks!


End file.
